THE FIRST PRISONER
Swinging their arms against their bodies, and walking up and down along
the river bank, from time to time the boys shouted out words of
encouragement. Time dragged monotonously. Hours seemed to have passed
before they heard again from the mounted policemen.
Faintly at first, then louder as it approached, they heard the scraping
of the raft. Human voices sounded eerily out of the gloom. A thrill of
excitement coursed along Dick’s spine. The suspense was nerve-breaking.
He had become almost as limp as a rag, when finally he discerned a dark
shape ahead and the raft pushed in closer to shore. A few minutes later,
using the long poles which had served them so well in crossing, Sergeant
Richardson and Corporal Rand vaulted across the intervening space
separating them from the beach.
It was a happy re-union. The three boys had not seen Sergeant Richardson
for months. They wrung the policeman’s hand, then escorted him and his
companion back to the campfire.
“Where’s Pearly?” demanded Corporal Rand, looking about him.
“Wounded,” replied Dick. “We’ve had a terrible time, corporal. Murky
Nichols followed us to Wandley’s post, where he conferred with La Qua.
La Qua went on to Settlement Mountain alone, first sending ahead the two
half-breeds who were with him. While Pearly and the three of us were
journeying along the trail on the way here, Pearly was shot down from
ambush. We were compelled to take him back to Wandley’s. The man who
shot him was the same person you arrested yesterday—the one who
attempted to stab Nichols. He’s in this vicinity right now. Less than
two hours ago, when Toma was reconnoitering in an effort to find this
place, he fired at him several times. Toma managed to escape injury and
made things so hot for him that he was compelled to seek shelter along
the slope of the river.”
The young guide’s eyes had widened perceptibly and he stared
unbelievingly at his chum.
“How you find out about that?” he blurted.
Sergeant Richardson ignored the interruption.
“Did Murky Nichols see you when you left Fort Good Faith?”
Dick flushed under the searching scrutiny.
“I don’t think he saw us, but he found out about our departure right
after we left.” Then Dick turned to Corporal Rand. “It wasn’t altogether
my fault, corporal. In less than ten minutes after you went out of my
room, the door opened and Murky Nichols came in. He seemed suspicious
and asked me what I was doing up at that hour. I pleaded a toothache and
was finally forced to ask him to leave. He took up a position in the
hall outside. It was easy to see that he did not believe my story and
intended to watch me. I was compelled to slip out of the window and go
around and wake Sandy and Toma. We were very quiet and I do not believe
that he had any intimation of the trick we had played upon him until an
hour or two after we’d gone.”
Neither Richardson nor Rand had anything to say. Dick felt that their
silence was in itself condemnatory.
“I did the very best I could.” His voice shook a little. “Corporal Rand,
I endeavored to follow out your instructions. If I have spoiled your
plan, I’m sorry.”
Dick turned his head to hide the tears which had suddenly welled into
his eyes. Then he felt a strong comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Forget it, Dick. It’s not your fault,” Corporal Rand declared
consolingly.
“You have all done remarkably well,” Sergeant Richardson congratulated
them. “I’m proud of you. In the person of Murky Nichols we have one of
the cleverest, shrewdest outlaws in this North country. He was your
opponent today. You must remember that. He’s not very easily outwitted.”
“How badly is Pearly wounded?” asked Rand.
“Quite seriously, I think,” Sandy answered. “He was unconscious and lost
a good deal of blood before we could get him back to the post. Wandley
is doing all that is possible for him.”
“Are you going to push on to Settlement Mountain tonight?” Dick
inquired, addressing Sergeant Richardson. “Or do you think that no
attempt will be made to start for the pass?”
“It’s hard to say. Personally, I’m inclined to believe that they will.”
“But this storm!” gasped Sandy.
“I doubt if that will make a great deal of difference. I’m convinced now
that they have a huge cache in their cabin at Settlement Mountain.
They’ll be compelled to do one of two things—either remove their fur to
another place of safety, or follow their original plan to take it
through Blind Man’s Pass. They’ll be forced to act quickly. They’re in a
difficult predicament and know it. From what you have already told me,
it is easy to see what has happened.”
The others were hanging upon the sergeant’s words. He had ceased
speaking for a moment and had stepped closer to the fire, his handsome
upright figure outlined clearly against the background beyond. Corporal
Rand addressed his superior:
“Exactly what do you mean, sergeant?”
“It is all clear enough,” Richardson spoke again. “Nichols’ suspicions
have become aroused. When he found out that you three boys had left Fort
Good Faith and had started north for Wandley’s, he surmised at once what
was afoot. Arriving at Wandley’s and finding Pearly there, very
naturally still further alarmed him. Fortunately for him, his
confederate, La Qua, had not yet gone on to Settlement Mountain.
“Now put yourself in his place,” he went on after a short pause. “What
was to be done? A cache of stolen fur worth thousands of dollars in a
cabin only a few miles away awaiting shipment—and the police aware of
this fact! He would suppose naturally that Pearly intended to go
immediately to seize the cache. In desperation, he ordered La Qua to
send the two half-breeds ahead with instructions to ambush the police
party. La Qua himself hurried on to Settlement Mountain.”
“Your theory seems reasonable enough,” said Corporal Rand. “But now that
the outlaws know that Pearly is out of the way, do you suppose that they
will do anything tonight?”
“La Qua doesn’t know this. Even if he did, it would be folly on his part
to take chances. Something must be done with the cache at once.”
“So you really intend to start?” asked Sandy.
“Yes. Right away. Neither the corporal nor myself have had anything to
eat since this noon, but we dare not stop now.”
Toma, who had gone out to gather brush for the fire, suddenly darted
back within the circle of light, a startled cry on his lips.
“Quick!” he faltered. “Get to cover! I jus’ see ’em someone!”
Toma’s warning came in the nick of time. Motioning to the boys to drop
back away from the campfire, Sergeant Richardson and Corporal Rand
struck off hurriedly. With Sandy at his side, Dick found himself a
moment later stumbling through snow more than ankle-deep. They could
hear the sound of hurrying forms, a sharp word of command—then silence!
They brought up before a willow copse, thick and almost impassable. Here
they crouched low, waiting developments.
“It must be the half-breed again,” Dick whispered hoarsely. “It’s a good
thing we scattered when we did. Anyone near the campfire would make a
splendid target.”
He turned and looked back toward the place they had just vacated. A
bright glare of firelight cast its reflection through a wide circle of
pitchy darkness, producing an eerie effect. The trees looked stark and
gaunt at the outer fringe of the circle. The place, which a few moments
before had been alive with the human forms of his companions, was now
totally deserted.
They waited breathlessly. The commotion, following Toma’s announcement,
had died away. Deep and forbidding seemed the solitude of the forest.
Dick wondered what had become of the two policemen and Toma. He half
expected to hear the disconcerting crack of a revolver. The minutes
passed slowly. The snow fell softly now—huge white flakes floating
through the air like particles of fluff. Sandy stamped his feet
impatiently, then pulled his parka farther down so that it muffled his
face.
“If it isn’t one thing, it’s another,” he lamented. “If that half-breed
has come back to bother us, he may get more than he has bargained for.”
Dick looked up sharply. A sudden tramping of feet and the crackling of
underbrush, warned him of someone’s approach. For a split-second his
heart caught with excitement. Was the half-breed himself coming their
way? Then his mouth gaped open in amazement. Within the circle of light
there appeared abruptly three forms, two of which the boys quickly
recognized—Richardson and Rand. They half-carried, half-dragged between
them a struggling protesting creature—none other than the half-breed
himself!
The boys hurried forward. As they came up to where the policemen and
their prisoner stood, they observed that the half-breed’s wrists had
been manacled. Over his prominent cheekbone, close to his left eye, was
a large welt he had received in his encounter with the guardians of the
law. Corporal Rand’s uniform was slightly dishevelled. A button had been
torn from his coat. He was bleeding from a cut on one cheek.
“Here’s one of Murky’s friends that won’t give us so much trouble in the
future,” Sergeant Richardson stated evenly.
“He’ll not be released this time either,” the corporal said with
conviction.
“How did you manage to capture him so quickly?” Sandy inquired
wonderingly.
“I kept him occupied,” the sergeant replied, “while Corporal Rand stole
up on him from behind. Rand got him after a short struggle.”
“We’ll have to take him along with us, I suppose,” said Dick.
“It can’t be helped,” Rand answered. “Hadn’t we better start, sergeant?”
Richardson brushed the snow from his fur jacket.
“Yes. At once. Dick,” he instructed, “you can saddle your ponies right
away. We’ll use them in breaking trail.”
The boys offered the two policemen the use of their mounts but the offer
was rejected.
“You’ll be tired enough as it is,” Corporal Rand pointed out. “Dick here
hasn’t had a wink of sleep in the past twenty-four hours.”
The party set out shortly afterward, moving quickly through the
darkness. They reached the Settlement River trail without mishap. Not a
word was spoken. Silently they trekked on. In spite of the importance of
their undertaking, the travelling had become so monotonous that Dick
nodded in the saddle. The crunch, crunch, crunch of the ponies’ hoofs
was slowly lulling him to sleep. Had his horse not stumbled occasionally
over some obstruction in the trail, it is probable he might have fallen
from his seat. On one of these occasions, shaken back to consciousness
when on the verge of dropping off into sound sleep, he heard the voice
of Sergeant Richardson.
“Just a moment, boys, until I get my bearings.”
They checked their forward progress at once. Instructing Sandy to look
after the prisoner, the two policemen came up to the head of the column,
conversing in low tones.
“We leave the trail here somewhere,” Richardson announced. “There used
to be a tiny foot-path that wound away through the trees to our left.
This is the one the outlaws must use in going to and from Settlement
Mountain.”
“Like hunting for a needle in a haystack,” Dick heard Rand remark. “Have
you a flashlight, sergeant?”
A faint flicker of light appeared and the two men started up the trail,
their eyes searching the ground. Dick would have pushed on after them
but Toma, who was in the lead, restrained him.
“They want us to stay here,” he whispered. “Come back jus’ so soon find
’em pack-trail.”
The curious eyes of the boys followed the retreating figures. Now and
again, like a large fire-fly, the small electric torch flashed out. It
appeared, disappeared, re-appeared, lending reality to the illusion.
How long they watched there, Dick could not say. He was nodding again
when the two returned.
“We found it,” said Sergeant Richardson. “Follow us. Sandy, keep a good
watch of the prisoner.” The party came to a halt again at the juncture
of the two trails. The one which threaded its way on their left, led
more or less directly to Settlement Mountain.
They were now only a mile from their objective. A thrill of suppressed
excitement permeated each member of the party. Dick shook off his
drowsiness and now sat alert, every sense keyed to the highest pitch.
The policemen continued in the lead, walking forward at a brisk rate.
Toma half-swung in the saddle and asked Dick in a subdued whisper:
“You think we find ’em outlaws pretty soon?”
Dick answered hesitatingly: “Yes, I think so, Toma. It isn’t very far
now. Too bad you haven’t your rifle.”
A sudden commotion behind drew their attention. Sandy cried out in a
tremulous voice as he slid from the saddle. A moment later he was
rushing wildly away through the darkness. The snapping of dry branches,
the crackling of underbrush was succeeded by a weird, unearthly shout.
“The prisoner has escaped!” Dick exclaimed breathlessly.